


Last Goodbye

by Anglophile_Fiend



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post Reichenbach, Songfic, Tea, let'swritesherlock, post reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-21 06:38:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/897027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anglophile_Fiend/pseuds/Anglophile_Fiend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for tumblr's letswritesherlock challenge 3<br/>Based on the song "Last Goodbye" by Jeff Buckley.<br/>Tomorrow afternoon is John’s wedding to Mary, but he has one last goodbye to give. From John's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> This is LITERALLY the first thing I have written in over a decade, and it was written for purely selfish reasons. Has not been beta'd or brit-picked.

John ran a warm hand over the well-worn cranberry armchair that had been his spot from the moment he stepped foot into 221b Baker street. His other hand was of course occupied with a warm cup of freshly brewed tea, which he sipped thoughtfully.  
 _This was it then. The last time he’d sit in ‘his’ chair, in ‘their’- no- not their, in Sherlock’s flat. After tonight’s last goodbye this would no longer their flat, it would no longer be his home._

He’d already moved the bulk of his belongings over to Mary’s newly remodeled flat out in Guildford. He frowned at the thought of not living in London proper.

_It’s only a half hour train ride into the city,_ he chided himself, _you’ll be out here loads of times, and...stop!_ He thought sharply, _you know how these things go._  
Mentally steeling himself, _It’s over, my time of dangerous adventuring is done. Sherlock will be here solving cases with Lestrade and I’ll be reading about them in the Sunday paper with my wife and someday a child in my lap, that’s my future, not trailing after a sodding consulting sociopath_ _._

At the thought his eyes drifted over to pale man sitting in the leather chair across from him. The distance between them only a few feet, but to John it felt like an ocean. He’s felt since “the return”, (as he now refers to time nearly a month prior where he was left behind for three long years), that they’ve shifted like tectonic plates. There wasn’t just an ocean between them, there were continents.

  
John laughed internally, he can’t even count the number of nights he wished the earth would swallow him up. Devour him whole, so that he didn’t have to face another day without his best friend, his lover, his whole world. How could he say _goodbye_ to Sherlock again? _Well, this time it was HIS decision to leave_ , he thought stoically. _I’m not in love with him anymore, and I am moving on with my life, and.._.

  
A low grunt pulled him out of his reverie, mid-sip.  
“You’re wrong you know” Sherlock intoned in that velvety growl John had come to know so well.

“What am I wrong about this time?”

“That you're not in love me.”

John sputtered and spilt a bit of tea that he had then begun to drink in an effort to appear nonchalant- this failed miserably.

“That wasn’t what I was thinking about, and regardless I’m not wrong. I mean I do love you, I always will Sherlock, you know that, I just, I just, I am not IN love with you, okay, not anymore. It’s gone, it died when you decided to leave me. However noble your reasons were, you left me Sherlock...and I mourned you. I wanted to die because YOU LEFT ME, but I didn’t die, and I picked up my own pieces and moved on Sherlock- it’s what people do.”

Sherlock leapt from his chair and strode over to his violin by the window.

“No, no don’t you go disappearing into that damn instrument, you started this conversation, you’re bloody well going to finish it. Just let me say this, listen to me- please.” John pleaded, as he shoved himself up and inelegantly off his chair.

Sherlock stopped, whipped around, dressing gown flying and flung himself at John, gripping tightly at his shoulders and stooping down to stare piercingly into his eyes. Johns arms hung limply at his sides.

“Look directly into my eyes and tell me you’re not in love with me.” Sherlock demanded.

John peered up at him, eyes moistening, but refusing to let himself shed a drop.

“You gave me more to live for, more than you’ll ever know, but... I’m not in love with you” He looked down and away, breaking the eye contact and Sherlock wrapped him up stem to stern with his long limbs before John could continue the unsuccessful protest.

No longer able to remain impassive, John reached up and clung to the taller man’s back. Then tears finally began to overtake his cheeks. He huffed in a deep breath in an attempt to stop them, but they did not obey.

“I still dream about you, you know? I still see your face on the pavement covered in- Oh God you still haunt me” he murmured into Sherlock’s shoulder, as he clutched even tighter.

Sherlock wordlessly expressed himself by stroking John back, running those long ivory violinists fingers up and down his spine and tangling into his sandy hair.

“I thought I knew you, I thought we were in it together, that you would never go where I couldn’t follow, but clearly, I didn’t know you, I didn’t know you at ALL Sherlock.” he choked out.

Then pulling his face away, he turned his water-filled eyes up to Sherlock’s glistening silver ones and uttered, “Kiss me” but as Sherlock closed his eyes and leaned in John spoke sternly, “But because you want to, don’t do it just to console or placate me.”

At that Sherlock released him, “You continue to surprise me John, and yet I continue to underestimate you.” He then gracefully sank back down onto the leather chair. Folding in on himself bare feet exposed, head ducking behind his knees. Leaving John alone and suddenly cold, even though he was standing before the fireplace.

“And you continue to infuriate me!” John shouted, turned on his heels and strode into the kitchen to make more tea.

He stood at the counter, making a valiant effort to stem the tide of tears edging out of his eyes, he threw his hands up and shoved his fingers into the closed lids. Physically willing himself to stop crying.

_Damnit, damnit, damnit, this is not supposed to be this hard_ , he thought to himself. _Why does he still have such a hold on me? No, no, no, no more. I know that we are done, I can’t believe I said that, “kiss me” what was I thinking? I cannot forget what he did, what he did to me. I forgave him a month ago, but I can never forget it. Even if he did it to protect me, he left me and things will never be the same, I can’t overlook that._

John dropped his hands and began the repetitive motions of tea-making without thought- as all of his were swirling around like a thunderstorm.  
 _This is what’s best for him, as much as it is for me, I’m only holding him back, he deserves to be with someone better, someone brilliant. Mary is what's right for me,_ he thought resolutely.

Darting a glance back into the living room he felt that resolution falter, seeing Sherlock all curled up on his chair with his arms wrapped around his pajama-clad legs.

_He’s such a gorgeous wanker, damn him, he looks so innocent like that. How could I ever leave when he’s all angles and elbows full of sadness?No. It’s over, you’re imagining things that aren’t there, he’s fine. Let’s just make the best of the last night and tomorrow afternoon you’ll be starting your new life._ John thought decisively.

 

He then wiped his face with the sleeve of his oatmeal colored jumper and carried the two fresh cups of tea back into the firelit room. He offered one to Sherlock who only tipped his head toward the table. He set down a cup and sat back into ‘his’ chair with the other.

  
As he allowed his eyes to glaze over and his mind to drift back into thoughts of _leaving, or staying, no definitely leaving_ \- his lap was suddenly full of one lanky Englishman. His cup went crashing to the floor, as he found himself being firmly kissed. It took him a moment to process what was happening as Sherlock had moved with such a startling quickness.

John no sooner made the realisation that he was on the receiving end of this passionate kiss, that those luscious cupid's bow lips were torn away and speaking softly.  
“I want you to stay, but not just because I need you, which I do, but because you are mine and I love you, my John. I know this, and I cannot lose you. I left to save you, I thought...I’m sorry, so very”...but he was unable to finish that thought as John stretched up to capture his mouth with his own. Tongue darting wetly between Sherlocks balmy lips, and cupped his face gently, letting a thumb brush those cheekbones he frequently admired.

He let himself taste the other man, and be tasted by him. A whir of thoughts raced through his mind, though soon they all were quieted with one realisation.

_He was in love with Sherlock. There was never a time when he wasn’t actually._

  
“Oh God how I love you, I love you” John murmured across his cheek and down into his neck, nipping softly at the pale flesh which drew a fierce noise from Sherlock.

“It’s over then? The church bells are no longer going to toll tomorrow?” Sherlock questioned.

John immediately became immobile as he pictured soft-eyed Mary, _Oh dear God, how could I have been so stupid, how did I not see the clues burned so deeply in my heart? I dragged her into my insane world and now I’m just going to drop her like a child’s toy the day after Christmas. This will devastate her!_ John dropped his head to his chest.

“Yes, it’s over- I’m yours Sherlock, I have been yours from practically the moment I met you.” John drew a heavy sigh.

“And I have to tell that somehow to Mary, and Christ, I’m going to have do it in person, this is so royally fucked up.” he grimaced.

Sherlock looked at him forlornly, clearly unsure what the social protocol was for comforting your partner when he has to let his former fiancee know that the wedding is off.  
This puzzled look brought a small grin to John’s face, as he always relished a slightly flummoxed Sherlock.

  
“Don’t worry, I’ve done worse, and you don’t have to come with” John vowed.

“Well I would certainly never be a party to such a dull conversation anyhow.” Sherlock retorted.

“You daft git!” he cried out while snuggling Sherlock deeper into his lap.

“ Leaving a woman at the altar is not dull, it’s cruel, and she’s going to hate me forever. But, I don’t need to go do it just yet, I’m certainly not looking forward to that conversation. God Sherlock, what am I supposed to say to her, I’m leaving her at the fucking alter!” he repeated for emphasis that was completely lost on Sherlock.

“John, she already knows.”

“She what? What do you mean ‘she knows'? Sherlock what have you done?” he accused.

A guilty look crossed his face quickly before being wiped clean.

  
“I’ve sent a text.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm totally open to comments, criticism, whatever you're thinking I'd love to know!


End file.
